They found me my first week of college: a wild-eyed religious group, sure in the knowledge that they were the true Chosen. I was just who they were looking for: a fresh face, seeking someone to save me. Like an apple they dunked me in a barrel to re-baptize me. Ecstatic, they laid their hands on me. And then they held up my arms, waiting for me to speak in tongues. I desperately wanted to invent some gibberish convincing enough for me to fit in. But I couldn’t, didn’t. Disappointed, they found me unworthy. I left, ashamed for being honest.
Mark Hendrickson (he/him/his) is a gay poet and writer in the Des Moines area using words to navigate the Sturm und Drang of daily life. www.markhendricksonpoetry.com Bluesky & Instagram: @markhpoetry